Swords clashed, and Weiset’s heart trembled. He roared like a wounded beast—exhausted, growing weaker in his fight against the Centurion, and soon to et his death on the spot.
The Golan Cavalry, seeing their commander fall, didn’t succumb to fear. Instead, they turned their horses around, shouting in unison. They raised their swords; their weary steeds began to trot forward, launching a charge as tumultuous as an avalanche toward their commander. They fought valiantly alongside the Dwarves, and the clanging of swords sounded like a requiem being sung.
The Cavalry broke through the Dwarves surrounding their commander, saving Weiset from danger. The Earl’s son mounted his horse once again, looking down at the blood-stained battlefield and soon realized with horror that Larsen Town was full of Dwarves—he could barely see any Golan banners anymore!
Larsen Town was on the verge of collapse; it seed that in the next mont, it would be trampled by the Dwarves, and the history of the Golan Kingdom would co to an abrupt end.
Faced with the overwhelming Dwarves, part of the Golan Garrison began to drop their weapons, ceasing to resist, and handed over their hard-held positions to the Dwarves in exchange for a chance at life.
Baron Ambo’s headquarters were teetering. Weiset even felt like countless people were considering surrendering.
It had been enough...
We had defended long enough,
We had done right by everyone...
The rain continued, the sky was dark, and Weiset gripped his Longsword tightly as his mount panted wearily beneath him.
Despair began to surface in Weiset’s heart. Larsen Town was about to fall, allies were collapsing and surrendering, and reinforcents were nowhere in sight. Should they charge again? Should they march to their deaths?
Weiset turned his head and once more, t the eyes of his Cavalry.
Beneath the dense curtain of rain, the Cavalryn remained silent, clutching their swords—a response to Weiset’s question ca solely in the form of their unwavering gaze.
Should we just give up now?
No...
Should we drop our weapons?
No...
Should we hand over our holand?
Never!
We shall live or die with Golan!
...Weiset saw the answers in their eyes, heard the silent cries from their tightly sealed lips, as he pulled on the reins of his horse, every hair on his head trembling.
"Scatty, protect us, grant us glory..."
Weiset murmured, and the eyes of his battle-steed filled with blood vessels, a comrade exhausted to the core. But as he pulled on the reins and lifted the fractured blade of his Longsword, the horse still stretched its neck, beginning to step forward.
It wanted to run, charge, and roar at the rciless battlefield before it, crossing over the blood and bodies of countless n!
The Cavalry, now fewer than half in number, pulled on their reins, slowly transitioning from a walk to a run, then to a gallop.
Weiset saw,
Larod was charging, Karaad was charging,
Montreal was charging, Olit was charging,
The limping Lajia was charging, and the one-ard Kasan was charging too!
Every person he could rember, and those he couldn’t, were charging, heading straight forward at a terrifying speed—the battered remains of the Golan Cavalry unstoppable in that mont!
Death lay ahead!
Yet they had a common will, a common holand,
And common words...
Weiset raised his Longsword high and cried out desperately:
"Advance!
Calamity cannot destroy Golan!"
With this shout, the weary Cavalryn, once again, collectively lifted their weapons. Everyone understood this was their last charge; after it ca death. So, as they broke into the enemy lines, everyone shouted in unison: "Calamity cannot destroy Golan!"
The Dwarves, thinking victory was in their grasp, believed they could easily crush the weary Golan army. But the remnants of the Cavalry suddenly launched another assault. They fought to the death, mounting one last charge. Their weapons were mostly broken, their horses spent. They gritted their teeth and counterattacked the enemy, singing their final dirge.
They knew the hopelessness of this battle, but they were also aware that the fate of Golan hung by their swords!
They would tell their enemies, they would tell that haughty Dwarf King, that Golan was not just a piece of the vast Empire. On this land lived millions of Golanese with their own lives; they were born here, they aged, and they died.
The Dwarves, caught by surprise on the flank, felt genuine panic, their hands trembling with their swords. Almost every Dwarf questioned:
Why are these Golan Cavalryn so fierce and fearless? Don’t they fear death? Won’t they die?
Why...
Why is this?!
The Cavalryn’s swords, amidst these questions, tore through the Dwarves’ formations.
The answer was actually quite simple...
Because the general’s second son had been gravely injured, and his eldest son was about to die on the battlefield,
Because it wasn’t just his two sons—countless Golanese sons bled dry and died in battle. Because there were countless Golanese, singing "Calamity cannot destroy Golan!"
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